by Baker, Katy
Do what is in front of you, Grandma Rosa would say.
She dropped the keystone back into her pocket and met Ramsay’s gaze.
“No,” she said. “I’m not going home. Not yet. I’m coming with you.”
Chapter 6
RAMSAY STARED AT JESS. He didn’t have time for this. He had to be off after Artair before the villain caused any more damage.
“Walk through the archway,” he commanded. “Go home.”
She didn’t obey. She crossed her arms and glared at him, her gaze as fierce as a hawk’s. Something stirred inside him. How come he hadn’t noticed how beautiful she was? How come he hadn’t noticed how deep a color her hair was, like the rich loam of a forest floor? How come he hadn’t noticed how brave and resourceful she was? She’d saved his life. Perhaps Artair and Adaira weren’t the only ones who’d underestimated her.
“It’s too dangerous,” he said at last. “I willnae put ye in harm’s way.”
“You don’t understand!” she snapped. “I can’t go home—not till I put this right. It’s all my fault!”
That took him by surprise. “Yer fault? What do ye mean?”
“If I hadn’t written that stupid paper, the Campbells would never have known how to find the keystone. I led them right to it.”
Ramsay remembered Artair’s words. He claimed that it was Jess’s paper that had led him and Adaira to the keystone. Was it random chance that Jess had written that paper? Was it random chance that had thrown her into his path? He didn’t think so.
Jess’s forehead was creased, her expression one of fierce determination as she waited for his response. Aye, she was a hawk indeed, fierce and brave and determined.
“Very well,” he said. “We’ll go after Artair Campbell together. But ye must remember that this time is very different to yer own. Ye must do as I tell ye, even if ye dinna like it. Especially if ye dinna like it. Agreed?”
She nodded. “Sure. We have a bargain.”
As the words left her lips, Ramsay felt fate snap tight around his neck like a noose. Somewhere on the edges of perception he heard the tolling of a bell. A bargain had been struck, and there was no going back. With sudden clarity, he knew his fate would pivot on those four simple words.
We have a bargain.
He let out a breath. “Right. We must start by getting ye some proper clothes. Ye canna walk around in that white coat—ye stand out like a fox in a hen house.”
She raised an eyebrow then smoothed down the stained and torn fabric. “You don’t think this fashion will catch on?”
He snorted. “Come, Artair already has a head start.”
He led the way down to the river bank and found a deer trail that led south. It was narrow and muddy and they had to walk in single file.
“Any idea where Artair is going?” Jess asked as she picked her way carefully through the knee-high grass.
“None. But once we’ve found ye some clothes and gotten some supplies, we’ll circle back to the village where he killed that youth. From there we’ll pick up his trail and track him. He’s no woodsman and shouldn’t be too hard to follow.”
In the distance, Ramsay spotted smoke curling over the tree tops and a little further on they reached a fork in the river where a tributary joined it. Ramsay turned down the tributary towards the smoke, hoping it indicated a settlement. They were in luck. As they rounded a bend, he spotted a small croft hugging the river bank. A line of washing was strung out back and a plow horse grazed in a paddock. A woman washed clothes in a tub whilst a man and a youth clambered about on the roof, mending the thatch.
“Remember to go along with what I say,” Ramsay warned Jess. He waved to the crofters and plastered a warm smile onto his face. “Good day, friends!”
The crofters looked up. The woman straightened from her washing and hurried over, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Good day. What can we do for ye?” Her tone was wary.
Ramsay eyed the run-down cottage with its worn thatch and badly fitting shutters. An old rowing boat that had obviously been patched a few too many times was pulled up on the bank. These people were having a hard time of it living out here alone. Maybe they could be of help to each other.
“My wife and I were traveling south when we were set upon by bandits. We escaped, but they stole our horses and traveling gear. If ye are willing, we would like to purchase some provisions from ye.”
The woman said nothing. She looked from Jess to Ramsay and back again, her eyes lingering on Jess’s clothing. Then she shouted over her shoulder. “Alan! Come and meet our guests!”
The man and youth—obviously her husband and son—climbed down from the roof and came to stand at the woman’s side.
Ramsay smiled at them. “My name is Ramsay. This is Jessica.”
The man inclined his head. “Alan Tanner. My wife, Aida and our lad, David.”
“What sort of provisions were ye after?” Aida asked, eyeing their obvious lack of gear. “And what do ye have to offer in barter?”
“Not barter,” Ramsay replied. “We managed to escape with our purse. We’ll pay with good coin.”
He pulled the purse from his belt and tipped several coins into his palm. Aida’s eyes widened, and she shared a quick glance with her husband. Ah. So he’d guessed right. Whilst they managed to grow, hunt and trap enough to feed themselves, they had no coin to pay for things they couldn’t do themselves such as repairs to their croft and boat.
“Of course,” Aida stuttered. “What is it ye need?”
Ramsay nodded to the line of washing. “Some clothes. Food and other provisions—whatever ye can spare. Oh, and yer horse.”
Alan sucked his teeth. “We canna part with Bluebell. Without her, how will we plow the fields?”
“Will this be enough to buy another plow horse?” Ramsay tipped more coins into his palm.
Alan’s eyes widened. Then he laughed. “Aye, it will at that. My, ye must be in a pickle indeed if ye are willing to pay so much for a sway-backed nag like our old Bluebell.”
“We’re in a hurry and don’t have time to find another,” Jess said smoothly. “Um, family business. I’m sure Bluebell is a fine beast.”
Alan turned to her and a smile softened his rough features. “Family business is it? Well, in that case, I hope she gets ye where ye need to be. David, go catch Bluebell and put a halter on her.”
The lad eyed Ramsay and Jess, his eyes wide, and Ramsay guessed he didn’t see visitors often. Then he ducked his head and ran to obey.
“Come this way,” Aida said, taking Jess’s arm. “I’m sure I’ve got some dresses that will fit ye.”
Ramsay followed the women into the house. It was a simple building consisting of just one large room. Sleeping pallets stood along one wall with curtains to divide it up for privacy and a large fireplace with cooking implements dominated the end of the room.
“Sit, sit,” Aida said, indicating a bench by a well-scrubbed table.
Ramsay nodded his thanks and sank onto the seat. Aida pressed mugs of something hot into their hands and then bustled about gathering cheese, bread, ale and cold meats and wrapping them in muslin. Ramsay sniffed the drink. It appeared to be some sort of tea. He took a sip, enjoying the warmth that ran down his throat but couldn’t help wishing for something stronger.
After they’d finished their drinks Aida began rummaging in a chest and came up with a bundle of clothes which she placed on the table. “Let’s see if any of these will fit ye,” she said to Jess. She frowned at the two men. “Out, the pair of ye! Give the lady some privacy will ye.”
“Come, on,” Alan said, laying a hand on Ramsay’s shoulder. “There is important women’s business going on. A sensible man knows when to retreat. I have something a little better than tea out in the shed. What would ye say to a dram of whisky?”
Ramsay laughed, allowing himself to be herded to the door. “I thought ye would never ask!”
RAMSAY LEFT WITH ALAN and Jess found herself alone wi
th Aida. The young woman bustled about, shaking out a pair of dresses, a cloak, a linen shift, and some stockings.
Jess watched her. She appeared to be only a handful of years older than Jess herself, although she was married, had a teenage son, and ran her own isolated croft. She wore a simple, homespun dress and her wheat-colored hair was held back from her face by a scarf. She had rosy cheeks and calloused hands, as though used to hard work.
For all that though, she seemed a cheerful type and hummed whilst she sorted through the clothes. Having laid the garments out on the table, she stood back, biting her lip.
“I hope these will do. They’re not very grand but serviceable, nonetheless.”
The dresses were woven from wool, one dyed a deep burgundy, the other a leaf-green. Both had flaring skirts, tight bodices, and long sleeves. Gold embroidery decorated the cuffs. These were far better quality than Aida herself wore and Jess guessed they must be her best clothes, probably saved for special occasions such as going to church on Sundays. A pang of guilt went through her at depriving Aida of her treasured possessions.
“They’ll more than ‘just do’,” she said with a smile, running the fabric through her fingers. “They’re lovely. Thank you, Aida.”
Aida beamed. “Ye are welcome. I dinna have cause to wear them much these days, anyway. They aren’t much use for scrubbing a floor or gutting fish!”
Jess laughed. “No, I don’t suppose they are.”
“I recommend the green one,” Aida said. “It will set off yer eyes and I’m sure yer husband would delight to see ye in it—or out of it of course!”
The ribald comment made Jess blush to her hairline. Oh god. Why had she agreed to pretend to be Ramsay’s wife? Were these the sort of comments she’d have to put up with the whole time?
“I...um...,” she stammered.
Aida laughed. “My apologies. I’ve embarrassed ye. If ye undress, I’ll help ye change.”
Glad to change the subject, Jess unbuttoned her lab coat and hung it on the back of a chair. Aida waved a hand, indicating Jess should undress down to her underwear. Embarrassment made Jess blush, but Aida didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable. When Jess had stripped down, Aida pulled the under shift over Jess’s head, and then helped her into the green dress. Just as Aida had predicted, it was a good fit, hugging Jess’s waist and then flaring out over her hips. Even so, it felt a little strange for somebody who lived in jeans and a flannel shirt most of the time.
“There,” said Aida, stepping back. “I was right. The color suits ye. Would ye like me to brush yer hair?”
“Would I ever!” replied Jess enthusiastically. “I’ve done my best to untangle it but it must look like a birds nest!”
Aida laughed. “I wouldnae go that far but I’m sure we can make some improvements.”
She picked up a brush, stood behind Jess, and began combing her hair, humming all the while. It felt good to be pampered a little and Jess was struck suddenly by a sense of...comradeship. Sure, Aida might have been born many hundreds of years before her, but she wasn’t so different to Jess after all. They could have been two friends brushing out each other’s hair anywhere.
“How long have you and Alan been married?” Jess asked.
Aida pursed her lips. “Oh, my. Let’s see. Coming up ten years now. We were childhood sweethearts.” She smiled warmly. “I met him at the summer fair what seems a lifetime ago now. He won all the contests of strength that day and all the lasses were clambering for his attention. But he only danced with me. From that moment I knew I’d marry him one day.”
“And here you are.”
“Aye,” Aida agreed. “Here we are. Life can be tough out here, but I wouldnae have it any other way.”
Jess nodded, a sudden pang of longing going through her. Aida was happy. Content with her lot. She had a loving husband, a dutiful son, and a warm home to call her own. That was enough.
What would it be like to be so content? Jess wondered. To realize you have everything you need and to no longer wish for more?
“What about ye?” Aida asked.
“Sorry, what?” Jess asked, startled from her thoughts.
“Do ye and yer husband have any children?”
The question caught Jess off guard. She floundered, trying to think of what to say. Dammit, why hadn’t she and Ramsay gotten their story straight before they came here?
“Um...no...” she muttered.
Aida patted her shoulder. “Ye will, I’m sure. Ye husband is a fine one, if ye dinna mind me saying, and I’m sure he’ll give ye many strong children.”
For one blinding instant Jess wondered what it would be like if Aida’s words were true. If she was really married to Ramsay and they shared the kind of life Aida and Alan did. For one bright, crystalline second, the image was so strong, it left her gasping.
She stomped on it ruthlessly. What an idiotic notion. She’d only met Ramsay two days ago. She barely knew him. And yet...and yet...she’d volunteered to remain by his side in this time without a second thought.
“What do you know of Clan MacAuley?” she asked Aida.
Aida didn’t pause in her brushing. “The MacAuleys? Canna say as I’ve met any of them. They live out west, by the coast. A powerful clan with a powerful laird.” She cocked her head. “Now that ye come to mention it, I heard they had some trouble a few years back. It was to do with the laird’s son as I remember.”
Jess’s heartbeat quickened. “Oh? What kind of trouble?”
Aida shook her head. “I canna say. It was only a rumor.” She stepped back and examined Jess then nodded approvingly. “Aye, that will do. Ye look lovely.”
Jess had to take her word for it as there were no mirrors in the tiny house. She climbed to her feet, a little cumbersome in the dress, but with clean clothes, and freshly brushed hair, she felt a little more normal. Now all she needed was a slice of cake and a cappuccino and she’d be right back to her old self!
She smiled and squeezed the other woman’s hand. “Thank you, Aida. You’ve been really kind.”
Aida squeezed her hand in return. “Think naught of it. To be honest, it’s been nice to have another woman around. As much as I love my Alan and David, neither are much in the way of conversationalists. Speaking of which, we’d better go find them before Alan gets yer husband steaming drunk!”
RAMSAY KNOCKED BACK his third dram of whisky. Aye, this was certainly better than Aida’s tea.
“A fine brew,” he said with a grin. “And most welcome!”
Alan barked a laugh, leaned forward and poured them both another dram. “Then here’s to fine brews everywhere!”
Ramsay raised his cup and drank to that. The two of them were sitting on a bench in Alan’s workshop. Tools hung from the walls and Alan’s home-made distillery filled the back portion.
Ramsay leaned back on the bench and stretched out his long legs. A twinge of pain flared in his hip and he grimaced.
“Are ye hurt?” Alan asked.
“Nay,” he said quickly. “Just an old injury.”
Alan said nothing, and they sat for a moment in easy companionship. Ramsay glanced at his surroundings: the workshop, the little cottage, the tidy rows of vegetables in the kitchen garden. By most people’s standards Alan and Aida were poor and certainly by the standards of a laird’s son who had grown up in a castle and wanted for nothing. Yet to Ramsay’s mind they had far more than he had. He’d seen the way Alan looked at his wife. He’d seen the easy way they had with each other, the little looks, the unconscious touches that suggested a contentment born from long years of fulfilled life together.
That would never be him. Since the moment he’d made his bargain with the Fae he knew that such a life wouldn’t be his. Bitterness twisted his stomach and his grip tightened on his cup.
“Do ye mind if I ask ye a question?” Alan asked.
Ramsay shrugged. “Go ahead.”
“Where are ye really going?”
“I told ye. We are traveling—”
“I know what ye said,” Alan cut him off. “But my father served for many years in the laird’s militia. I know a fighting man when I see one. And I know the look of a man who rides to battle. Are you going to join the Woodsmen?”
“The who?”
“The Woodsmen. The band of fighters who defy laird MacGregor.”
Ramsay frowned. “There’s trouble on MacGregor land?”
Alan snorted. “There’s always trouble on MacGregor land these days. That’s one of the reasons we moved out here. I want my family to be safe.”
Ramsay knocked back his whisky and then placed his cup on the table. “I dinna know these Woodsmen that ye speak of.”
“But ye are going into battle?”
Ramsay sighed. “Aye. I’m going into battle.”
Alan said nothing. He watched Ramsay steadily, his gaze assessing. Then he stood abruptly and crossed to a locked chest that stood against one wall. He unlocked it, took out a wrapped bundle and held it out to Ramsay.
“This belonged to my father,” he said. “It’s yers if ye want it.”
Ramsay took the object and unwrapped it. Within he found a bastard long-sword. It was old, the hilt and cross-guards battered, but the blade still held an edge. There was a brace of daggers to go with it.
He looked at Alan in surprise. “I canna take these. They’re an heirloom of yer family.”
“They’re weapons, naught more,” Alan replied. “And meant for a warrior, not a farmer. Take them with my blessing. Mayhap they will aid ye in yer coming battle.”
Ramsay closed his fingers around the hilt of the sword. “Then I will,” he said. He clapped Alan on the shoulder. “And ye have my thanks.”
The door suddenly burst open and young David hurried in. “I’ve saddled Bluebell, Da,” he announced. “She wasnae pleased about it. Look at this! Nearly took a chunk out of my arm, she did!”
Alan laughed. “It shows she likes ye, boy. She doesnae bite just anyone ye know!”
Ramsay shuffled along the bench to make room for David. He was a tall, strong lad with a serious expression. He was the kind of lad Ramsay’s uncle Camdan would have taken on as a squire if he’d been born at Dun Ringill.
